


Lessons in Lying

by ballerinaroy



Series: nineteen years later seems pretty far away [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: If Hermione doesn’t tell them now they’ll never know. Even if they’ll only remember it and her for a few hours, Hermione thinks her parents deserve the truth about what she’s really been getting up to in the wizarding world.





	Lessons in Lying

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series of one-shots exploring Hermione's relationship with her parents. 
> 
> I was inspired by a post on Reddit discussing how devastated Hermione was by Ron's departure in the Deathly Hallows. Someone pointed out that, perhaps aside from Christmas at their sixth year, Hermione hadn't been apart from him but a fortnight since the beginning of their third year. 
> 
> This got me thinking about how strange it was that even the most understanding parents would let their only daughter disappear almost completely into a world where she was in constant mortal danger. The most reasonable answer is of course that they had no idea at all what she was getting up to. 
> 
> I know the more popular trope is that she confessed to everything upon restoring their memories. However, knowing she would erase everything she was about to tell them would have provided Hermione the opportunity to be very candid with her parents about what she's really been up to. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

"We’re so glad you’ve come to see us, Hermione,” her father said earnestly as she joined them at the table after supper.

“We feel like you haven’t been home in ages,” her mother went on, a hint of bitterness in her voice. Hermione could hardly blame them. Aside from last Christmas, she hadn’t spent but a fortnight with them since the summer before her third year. “I thought we could do some proper shopping this weekend, maybe go and see a play?”

They hadn’t asked and she hadn’t told them otherwise of her plans, leaving them under the assumption that she would be spending the full holiday with them before returning to school. It broke her heart to see how overjoyed they’d been picking her up from the station, and was secretly relieved that Harry had managed to convince them out of their plan to accompany him to Privet Drive.

“Mum, dad,” Hermione said softly, sitting down in a chair opposite them.

They winced at her tone and she found it difficult to go on.

“You’re not staying, are you dear?” her mother asked softly and there were tears in her eyes. 

Hermione shook her head no, folding her hands together on the surface of the wooden table.

“When are you leaving then?” she asked, her voice catching.

“Not yet," Hermione assured her, “I wanted to see you before I left.”

She couldn’t help the emotion in her own voice.

“Things have changed, in my world,” Hermione said softly. “I won’t be going back to school next year.”

She had their full attention at once, eyes wide.

“You aren’t of age,” her father protested and Hermione shook her head.

“In the wizarding world coming-of-age is seventeen, that’s why I was able to do magic last Christmas.”

Though she’d spent most of the holiday rather miserable and pining after the red-headed boy she was about to embark on a daunting quest with, Hermione was suddenly grateful she’d been given the time with her parents. She didn’t know when she would see them again. _If_ said a small voice in her head, _she would see them again_.

Noticing the tears in her eyes her father softened. “What’s going on Hermione?”

“I haven’t been honest with you, for quite some time, about things that are happening in my world.” She forced herself to look up at them and found them horrified and transfixed by her statement.

“What are you talking about?” her father asked in his same calm but stern voice.

She’d always prided herself on her ability to be honest with her parents. Perhaps it was growing up an only child or perhaps it was her nature for respecting the rules and order of things, but as a child, she’d never felt the need to lie with them. Certainly, she’d done things to get in trouble, but had learned early on that being truthful was much less painful than lying. A lesson she was learning all over again.

“Do you remember, when I first met Harry, and I told you about how he’d defeated a dark wizard when he was just a baby?”

They both nodded hurriedly.

“And do you remember, in our fourth year, when I wrote to you about a tournament that Harry was entered into when he wasn't supposed to be?”

Again they nodded at her.

“It was a rouse, a scheme in order to get Harry closer to the dark wizard, closer to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

She didn’t know what had compelled her not to say his name now. Part of her didn’t want the knowledge in her parents' brains, as if shielding them from the name itself would shield them from the war.

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hadn’t really died. Due to some horrible, ancient magic, he’d simply lost his body but his soul lived on. And in order to gain a body, he needed Harry’s blood. So, at the end of the tournament, the trophy he was competing for was actually a Portkey, designed to transport him away from school and Dumbledore, and the plan succeeded.”

“He’s back?” her mother gasped. “Properly?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded, grateful that they seemed to understand at once the implications of this. “The ministry didn’t believe Harry, allowing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to gain power in the shadows. I didn’t come home that summer, not because I was taking a special course but because Dumbledore feared that Ron and I might have targets put on us for being Harry’s friends.”

“Where were you really?” her father asked, not angry, but distrustful.

“At the headquarters of a secret organization formed to fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Hermione answered truthfully. “It’s where I spent Christmas that year too because Dumbledore feared me leaving the country put me at greater risk.”

“Hermione,” her mother moaned, gripping her husband’s hand.

“And the summer after that?” her father asked in the same displeased voice.

“At the Burrow, Ron’s house,” Hermione had been somewhat more honest with them then, even though she’d said she was staying there so it’d be easier to attend another invented course. “I was injured in a battle at the Ministry and to recover I needed to be in a magical environment should something happen.”

She could tell the question on their tongues before they’d even registered it was time to ask and pulled the hem of her shirt from her skirt and began unbuttoning it. The skin of her abdomen, though fully healed, was still was discolored. It looked remarkably better than it had even a year prior and Madame Pomfrey still held confidence that in time the mark would fade. Never fully back to the natural color of her skin, but enough that it wasn’t immediately evident. It seemed a frivolous thing to be worried about now.

“After the battle, the ministry accepted that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned and they took steps to fight him, appointed a proper minister. For the past year things in my world have been relatively stable but now-“ her voice caught in her throat. “Things will be coming to a head soon and—“

Again she found it too difficult to go on.

“Hermione,” her father said, reaching out to still her trembling hands. “What do you need?”

She blinked at him in surprise.

“Do you need money, a place to go?” he asked urgently. “Just tell me what you need and we’ll make sure that you’re safe.”

“I’m not running dad,” Hermione said. “Harry has been given a mission and Ron and I are going with him.”

“We can protect you,” he said, pleading with her.

“I’m not telling you this so you can try and protect me.” Not that they could, but Hermione knew better than to argue this now. “I am telling you this because I think you deserve the truth before whatever comes next.”

Hermione knew she was telling them this more to ease her own conscience than for their understanding. Soon they wouldn’t remember any of it anyway. Soon they wouldn’t even remember her name.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” her mother pleaded and Hermione looked over to find tears steadily dripping down her face. “Hermione, you’re still just a child.”

“I know that you can’t understand this,” Hermione said, “And I’m not asking your permission. But it does have to be me.”

They both opened their mouths again and Hermione hurriedly went on, “It has to be Harry, there’s no one else who can end this. And he can not do it alone, and he should not have to. So, Ron and I are going to help him because there’s no one else who can end this.” 

“Hermione,” her mother whispered, reaching out for her other hand and held it tightly. “Please, we can help you.”

“I have had years to prepare myself for this decision, time to think it over and make a proper choice and I didn’t give you that same privilege. For that, I am sorry and accept responsibility."

“You are not the one who should be taking responsibility for that,” her father said and for the first time sounded angry. “Whose to blame are those who convinced you to hide all this from us!”

Logically Hermione knew she’d been a child when making the decision to keep her parents in the dark, but she didn’t feel much older now. And if given the choice she would make the same again. Every time when faced with the choice of following Harry or running she hadn’t blinked.

“I want to speak with him,” her father raged, voice growing in volume. “Dumbledore shouldn’t have—“

“Dumbledore’s dead.”

The color seemed to drain from her father’s face at once. She had spoken, but not spoken, told, but not told them everything about the wizarding world over time. About the key players, about their allegiances and abilities. She’d simply left out the most obvious factors, about what her world was facing now.

“That’s why we aren’t going back,” Hermione said, taking advantage of his stunned silence. “That’s why it has to be now because it’s only a matter of time before the ministry is overturned and he is openly ruling my world. Hogwarts will be under his control when that happens and it wouldn’t be safe for me there anyway.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.”

Even if she did she wouldn’t have told them. Already she’d made vague plans for them once the Burrow could no longer protect them. There was Grimmauld Place, which she was pretty sure was safe and would ask Mad-Eye about, and should it come to it perhaps they could get a tent and escape to the countryside.

“Will we be safe?” her mother croaked.

“Yes,” Hermione said earnestly. “I’ve already taken steps to make sure of it.”

“Should we,” her father hesitated, unsure of how to finish his thought. “Should we be making plans, to go into hiding?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Honestly, there’s no reason for any of them to come after you so long as I’m not here.”

She didn’t want them making plans, telling their friends they were going somewhere, anything to tip anyone off. If her plan was to work she needed there to be no trace between her parents sitting in front of her now and the two people departing for Australia in the morning.

But,” she said, wanting to somehow find a way to reassure them. “If anyone comes, anyone but Ron, Harry or me, then you need to run. No matter what they say.”

If anything they looked more horrified.

“Hermione,” her father was pleading with her now. “Please reconsider, we-we could all go away together, disappear into our world. We could keep you safe Hermione.”

There was nothing further from the truth but the pleading look in his eyes, begging her, was impossible to say no to.

Suddenly Hermione found herself completely worn. All day had been spent running around to provide an unimpeded path for her parents. Withdrawing their savings and putting it under a new account with new names. Crafting new identities and the proper paperwork to make the rouse legitimate. Ordering plane tickets. Even purchasing new clothes and packing them so when they awoke all they would need to do was dress and get into a taxi. Everything else, the cars, the house, she would put under a protection charm. It wouldn’t hold, but she didn’t need it to. When they came looking for her, and one day soon she knew the death eaters would, they would deduct that she had run away with them.

“I’m staying here tonight,” she told him. “We can talk in the morning.”

It did nothing to relieve his worry lines.

It seemed impossible that just yesterday she’d been in a white chair on the grounds, relishing in the warm sun as they watched their Headmaster lowered into the ground. She wondered for a moment whether she would even have the energy to perform the spell or if perhaps she should wait another day to get her strength up. But Ron was expecting her tomorrow and she didn’t want to worry him. Not when they had so much more to be concerned about.

“Hermione-“ but he seemed to have nothing more to say.

With urgency he rose, pulling Hermione into a tight hug before she could even properly stand. The last time he’d held her so tightly had been on the platform all those years ago before she, at eleven, was whisked away into a world he knew nothing of. Or perhaps before her third year when, after weeks of arguing, she’d finally convinced them to let her go back to the school, she’d been petrified at. It was then when the lies began when Hermione began to fear that her parents' protectiveness would keep her from the place where she most belonged.

“You don’t,” he mumbled, gripping her so tightly now it was almost painful. “Hermione, you don’t-“

“I know,” she said and felt herself overcome suddenly knowing that when he let go it would perhaps be the last time she ever felt her father’s arms around her. “I’ll be okay.”

Over her father’s shoulder, she met her mother’s eyes, tears still streaming down her face.

“Listen, should anything happen,” her throat seemed incapable of speech. “Just, if anyone comes for you but Harry or Ron, or the Weasleys, then I need you to promise me that you’ll run.”

“Hermione,” her father pleaded again. “We can run from this.”

Even if that were true she wouldn’t.

“I need you to trust me,” Hermione said quietly. “I know that’s asking a lot, but please, promise me you’ll trust me this final time?”

Her father gripped at her for a long moment more and then let go, nodding at her with wet eyes. “Hermione-“

But he seemed to have nothing more to say as he studied her face intently. She looked back at him, aged in a way she wouldn’t have noticed except that she’d been apart for the past five years. His glasses were a little lopsided and without thought she reached to straighten them, earning another croaked noise.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, as he turned away to wipe his eyes and resumed his place at the table, wrapping his arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No,” her mother said urgently. “No, it’s better...” She trailed off, sniffling. “Just promise us you won’t lie to us anymore.”

It was almost too easy to lie. “I promise.”

 


End file.
